The Devil's Keeper
by cloudlessclimbs
Summary: Bianca Olson is charged with the custody of young Michael Langdon after the untimely death of her mother, Constance. Going back to L.A. means facing old demons and rediscovering new ones.  Eventual Violate: this is a sequel to False Prophet.
1. The fourth child

_Early May, 1993, Los Angeles, California._

"Do you honestly think you can make it in college, Bianca?" Constance asks, inhaling a drag of her cigarette at the "family" meal. Bianca chews the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to remain nonplused at a forthcoming jab at her disability brims to the surface. Bianca thinks her mother forgets that, despite having Cerebral Palsy, she's the Senior Class President and Homecoming Queen. Not that it pleases Constance. Nothing will ever, ever please her. "You can hardly eat with a fork without shaking like a homeless person." Exhales, ignoring at how Adelaide winces when some smoke is blown her way, before standing up out her seat and straightens her dress; she's annoyed and Bianca hasn't even done anything, yet. "Now, you're in charge, Bianca: I expect everyone to be in bed by eleven—_Oh, Jesus H. Christ: where the hell is your brother?_"

Bianca can't stop herself: "The one you hide away in the attack, or the drug addict?"

Soon enough, it earns her a hard smack on her cheek. It hurts; it always hurts, because her mother always uses the hand that has the most jewelry with the intent to leave a mark. Her eyes sting with tears and she does everything she can to avoid Adelaide's look of concern. Addie is the eldest; therefore, Bianca always assumes that the girl has a strong need to protect her younger siblings, even when they often have an overpowering need to protect her. "You speak to me in that tone of voice again, little girl and you'll be in a world of hurt: understand?"

Bianca nods, staring at her barely eaten plate. Constance leaves for her rendezvous with a married man—Larry, right?—all because she covets the house she lost once their father left town. For the longest time it's just two sisters, sitting adjacent from each other, before Addie pipes in: "We should order pizza." She suggests standing up to begin picking up the plates as Bianca just sat there, still teary eyed from their mother's handiwork. "This meatloaf tastes like shit."

"Language, Addie," Bianca weakly scolds. She tries to stand up and do it herself, even if the muscular dystrophy in her right hand causes it to curl up to her chest, making only one arm able to do any lifting, but Addie tells her to call the delivery man. They know their mom won't be back until morning, if not noon. "Should I even bother ordering the pineapple pizza for Tate, or will he actually make it home besides doing acid or god knows what?" Adelaide's closer to Tate. Tate worships Adelaide much more than he's ever done to Bianca or Beau; they love each other, Bianca is certain of it, but there's this undercurrent of shivers down her spine when she looks into his eyes. He scares her.

His voice interrupts those thoughts as he saunters inside the home and into the living room, slamming the door in his wake, causing Bianca to nearly let go of the phone. "It's weed, B. Not acid." He replies smoothly, hopping on the couch from the back, not bothering to take off his shoes. He's still in his track uniform and—oh, that musk! Boy musk! "Take a shower, Tate!" Adelaide scolds with a scrunched up nose.

"Nah, I'm good, Addie."

Pizza is delivered—Addie tries to give Beau some, but he refuses: he only likes the cheesy bread.—and the three siblings sit around the TV. Bianca's pony tail begins to unravel, must to her annoyance, and she'd ask Addie or Tate, but they're too busy eating. "Where are you applying for college, B?" Tate asks.

"Nowhere if mom has any say." Replies the seventeen year old, bitterly. "All I want is to be far, far, far away from this sh—_stink hole_," she corrects, much to her sibling's annoyance. She doesn't admit she's already applied and is accepted, full academic scholarship, to one. "Maybe, I don't know, NYU? Penn State? You're a junior next year, Tate, where are you applying for?" She wants to see a Broadway Show; she wants to be a writer, so NYU is where she has her sights set on in the fall. (If Constance finally allows her, that is.)

"Nowhere." He answers with a nonchalant shrug. "I mean, when you think about it, do you really need college to be successful? I mean, De Niro was a High School dropout. Who says I can't be like him?" He studies her for a moment, actually looking genuinely concerned for all she knows, before tugging on her oversized Rainbowbrite sweater she wears around the house, accompanied by acid-washed-holey-jeans. Things she'd never wear outside of their home and certainly never at school. Addie dresses like Constance and so does Bianca, when she's at school. She has to or her mother would never shut up about it.

Not Tate, though. Tate does whatever Tate wants. "You should go to college, if that's what you want. I mean, besides the gimp, you're popular. It's annoying."

"So are you, Mr. Jock."

"Not anymore. I quit."

Addie gave her favorite brother a devious, tiny grin: "Mom is going to freak out."

Tate shrugs, "it's my life, not the cocksucker's."

"_Tate!"_ Bianca shrills, nodding towards Addie with furrowed brows. Once again, her siblings ignore her policy for PG-Rated language only, and Tate continues onward. "I mean, you can handle yourself; mom doesn't get that she can't control our lives anymore. I mean, c'mon, Addie is always in our old house, even when mom doesn't know."

"I have friends there." Adelaide says, simply, taking another bite from her pizza.

She graduates in the twentieth percent in her class, Honors, and is all but thankful that when Constance announces they were going to move back into their old home across the street she has news of her own.

"Mama," she begins, knowing she's on uneven ground with the older woman. She ought to soak up her good mood and use it for her advantage. "I got in to NYU…"

"Well, that's all good and well, honey, but Mama doesn't have that sort of cash on her." Constance has a response for everything. Her tone is condescending, as if she already knows she's in the winning, until Bianca fires back. "Full scholarship, Mama; you won't have to pay a cent. Plus, I saved up on the money Nana and Grandpa gave me for my birthday since I was ten, and I can use that for a plane ticket and—"

Constance interrupts her. The good mood has soured by the youngest female Langdon's persistence; face weathered and set in stone. "And what? Baby girl, I love you and I'm so proud of you, but you've got to think about your brother; how would he react if you just left him? Besides, if you wanted to go to college so bad, go to UCLA. It's just 'round here and you can still be with your family." There's a pause but before Bianca has time for a rebuttal, Constance is back in, full force. "Do you really think someone like you can live alone? Hell, you can't even drive, Bianca. Do you really think you can survive without your Mama and your siblings looking out for you?"

"Yes."

Her mother is taken by surprise. It fades to the stone façade, a raised pointer finger in Bianca's face and the squinty eyes tell her that it's about to be her mother's final word and that's that. "The answer, Bianca Michelle, is, and always will be, _no_. Now, I don't want to talk about this ever again. Go help your sister pack her things."

Bianca does.

When she leaves with some friends that afternoon, they drive her to the airport when her mother thinks she's at some sleepover. She's packed, Addie and Tate promised to send the rest of her things later, and with a ticket in hand she makes her way aboard the plane and says goodbye to Los Angeles once and for all.

A year later, after months of unsuccessful tries to contact her siblings back home, Tate's picture fills the news, the papers, and the word-of-mouth Nationwide.

He shot and killed fifteen of his fellow students only to be shot by the SWAT team in his room.

Bianca stops trying to talk to her family after the fact. She goes on to become a head writer for the New York Times and says goodbye to her old life once and for all.

* * *

><p><em>Twenty four years later.<em>

The sharp, loud ringing breaks Bianca from her fitful sleep. She's in a haze, really, and her heart is thumping wildly and yet the balding head of her husband is sound asleep, snoring. David can sleep through a hurricane. Blindly groping with her hands towards the phone, she picks it up with her good hand to answer.

"Hello?" She asks her voice hoarse and full of sleep.

"Mrs. Olson?" The man in the phone asks. When Bianca confirms, he goes on. "This is the LAPD. It says here you're related to one Constance Marie Langdon, is that correct?"

It's hard not to eye-roll at the mention of her mother's name. For the past two decades or so that woman's been trying to reestablish contact with Bianca; every call she made went straight for voice mail, which went straight to being deleted for good. David never questions. She's told him about the horror stories and the stressful upbringing her mother enforced, so he never pushed it.

"Estranged daughter," Bianca quips, squint her eyes in confusion. "Is she finally being committed?"

"No. I'm sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Olson, but your mother is dead—hello? Mrs. Olson?"

Bianca doesn't answer. She just sits up right and drops the phone, staring ahead into nothingness.


	2. Halloween

Mommy tells Adelaide this is the first time she's been on a plane since she was a baby; she thinks she probably didn't like it then, because she doesn't like it now. There are certain phrases she can't articulate quite yet, even if it comes out perfectly in her head, so when she intends to ask where her Aunt Jill is, it comes out a little like _'Aunt Jill fly?'_ Mommy understands perfectly fine and shakes her head. "Aunt Jill had to work. It's just me and you, kid." Mommy makes sure her seatbelt is fastened yet again; Adelaide is five years old now and mommy still sees her as a baby. Sometimes it's okay—like when she has a nightmare and her mommy makes her hot chocolate!—and sometimes it isn't. Adelaide can't decipher which one this is, but she ignores it because mommy told her if she's a good girl she'll stop by the record store when they get there.

Adelaide likes vinyl records. She's obsessed with them, actually. Mommy always tells her that grunge was her daddy's favorite type of music. Adelaide doesn't know what a daddy is, never remembered owning one, but Adelaide isn't sure how to go about this subject so she just accepts it. Mommy says the picture frame that's on her end table by her bed is a picture of her daddy holding her as a baby. It confuses Adelaide; she isn't that small, and the boy looks too young. She thinks mommy makes up stories sometimes, because even mommies get confused.

"We'll be arriving in Los Angeles within thirty minutes," the captain announces over the intercom. It's so loud it makes her ears hurt. Cupping her hands over her ears, she starts to rock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until the ringing goes away. People are staring and bouncy, tight, golden curls hang over her face as she squeezes her eyes shut—"Addy," mommy says, "it's okay. Think of Mr. Bunny."—but it's only after she's given an even amount of movements does she actually do what her mommy says. It has to be even, always. There are _never_ any exceptions. Today's Halloween, so Adelaide can dress up. It might be a funeral, but Adelaide likes her tutu and Bunny pajamas. It makes her feel safe. She likes the way the fabric feels against her skin because everything else feels itchy. She wears this almost every day, but Halloween is special: Halloween is when she wears a tiara so she can be like the pretty princesses in her favorite movie: Shrek.

Mommy and Adelaide can't get off the plane fast enough. They're staying over at Constance's house. She doesn't know why they have to: it isn't her house and Adelaide likes her house, not anyone else's. "I know it sucks, but she was kinda like your grandmother."

"Grandma on TV." Adelaide corrects with furrowed brows. At least, that's how she knew her grandparents. She'd sit in mommy's lap and look across the monitor as they spoke to her. She thinks they live in their or something, but she wishes they didn't. She'd like to give them a hug and a real kiss. Mommy used to tell Adelaide that she never liked hugs and kisses before her; this makes Adelaide happy, because mommy hugs makes everything better. They ride in a car that looks like a bumblebee and as soon as they know it, they're at the gravesite.

It's scary.

Adelaide doesn't know anyone there. They all look at her with accusatory glances and it feels like she's being choked by her chest and she can't breathe—

Mommy saves her. Mommy picks Adelaide up and holds her tightly so she can bury her head in mommy's tiny neck and hide from all the strange, strange people. They all wear black like mommy, except Adelaide. She wants to let them know its _Halloween _and they should dress up, but that would mean she'd have to talk, or even look at, one of the strangers and that scares her.

Afterwards people meet at her grandmother's-that-isn't-on-TV-house, and Adelaide doesn't let mommy put her down. "It was nice of you for coming, Vi," a familiar voice says, and Adelaide turns around and somehow her grandpa made his way out of the monitor. "And if this isn't Addy! I love the tiara, kiddo." He holds out his arms for her and Adelaide jumps into them, hugging him tightly. It's like a dream come true! Mommy gives a loud sigh and Adelaide thinks it's time for her to take a nap. "Princess, Grandpa!" She declares with a toothy grin. Grandpa only smiles back at her, nodding.

"Yes. Yes, you are!" He boasts, bouncing her a little, causing the little girl to give out a tiny screech. "Did I ever tell you that your mom always wanted to be something scary for Halloween? It's true. Ever since I can remember, your mom had to be the tough one. When you're older, I've got to tell you about the time your mom was banished from daycare for biting the instructor…"

* * *

><p>Violet is a little surprised that she hasn't seen Tate, yet. She knows that he and his mom were hardly on the best of terms, but she'd figure he'd take the opportunity to do something, even if it's catching a glimpse of herself. It doesn't take her long, though; she makes her way through the kitchen and out into the backyard to see the sullen, troubled boy that could be Kurt Cobain's twin at seventeen standing there, looking at the bright sun. He's been punished long enough. "I didn't think you'd come," she says, walking up to stand next to him. <em>Strange<em>. She's the older one now, if only in looks, even if Aunt Jill tells her daily that it's like she hasn't aged a bit since she first arrived in Florida. "I was hoping you would, you know. To talk." He still hasn't even bothered to look at her. He keeps his eyes focused on the sky as if her presence hasn't fazed him one bit. "Addy's here, you know? She's with my dad."

"I know why you left."

It's Violet's turn to look at something, anything, but the boy beside her. She swallows a large lump in her throat; "The house didn't want Adelaide. D-Dad thinks that's why she has some health problems, because the house wanted her to be weakened. I-It wasn't just what you did to my mom." He flinches a little bit, even if she hasn't uttered the word 'rape.' "I've forgiven you, though."

"You shouldn't." He replies, embittered and almost accusatory, "I waited for you, you know. Way longer than I should have, even when I knew you weren't going to come back, I still waited for you." He turns and grabs her shoulders, forcing her to face him. She does and she can't help it—she's tearing up. She thought it was hard looking at Addy's face and seeing Tate? Now it's harder to look at Tate's face and see their daughter. See the only man she's ever been with, even loved. "I could've protected her from the darkness. I still can, Violet. Your parents, me, and Moira can look after her. You don't have to go back to Florida—"

_"Mommy?"_

Adelaide, somehow, has snuck away from her doting grandfather and found her mother in the arms of a stranger. Violet watches how Tate's eyes widen as he looks at his daughter for the first time since she was a newborn, gaping in awe; Adelaide, however, furrows her brows with scrutiny, blinking large, dark lashes together. "Not mommy." She says, pointing her chubby finger at Tate. She then turns to Violet with large, doe eyes, pleadingly, "Go to Addy's home now?" She asks, pouting a little.

"I told you, not yet." Violet responds, softly but firmly. Tate is still staring at her like she's the most amazing thing he's ever witnessed. Violet bends down to hoist the small girl on her hip, pointing to Tate with her free hand. "Addy, this is my friend Tate. He's the boy holding you as a baby…the one on your nightstand?"

"Addy not baby," she corrects, pouting, before hiding her face in the crook of Violet's neck. Tate's her father, sure, but to Adelaide he's still a stranger. "Addy miss home."

"Y-You can see my home?" Tate pipes in, hopefully, obviously ignoring Violet's look of disapproval. "I have toys! There's even a stuffed animal bunny I have, too, that I can give you!"

"Tate…" Violet warns.

Adelaide peeks at Tate, interest piqued by her love of bunnies, raising a little eyebrow. "Addy like bunnies."


	3. New owners

Instead of black, Bianca wears white. David scolds her for it, says it isn't appropriate, but Bianca hasn't forgotten poor Beau and how Addie always tried her best to live up to their mother's approval—good riddance to Tate, since she thinks he's just as bad as her!—to have any inkling on being appropriate for her mother's funeral, regardless of being the only surviving child of Constance and Hugo Langdon. The memorial service at the home she resided in is filled with people that Bianca doesn't know, but using her cane does she make her way into the living room to find little Michael, dressed in his Sunday best, sitting all alone. "Can I take a seat?" Bianca asks softly. Michael's blue eyes tear his gaze from the carpet and nods, moving over to give Bianca room to sit. Using the cane to support all her weight, she lowers herself on the plush cushions, giving the little boy a soft smile. "I'm Bianca."

"I know," he says. His voice is so soft, but very articulate. "Nana has pictures of you." Bianca isn't certain where he got the name 'nana' from, but she's too shocked that her mother kept anything of hers. She figured once she was written out, she was written out for good. The little boy's face is wet, but he clasps his tiny hands in Bianca's, giving a gentle squeeze. For some reason, Bianca has a sense that she's known him for all her life, but she can't put her finger on why. "Who will take care of me now, Bianca?" He asks those blue eyes piercing and wide, mystified. "I miss her."

Bianca isn't certain why anyone would miss someone like Constance Langdon, but keeps her mouth shut and pulls him into an awkward embrace. Beau was better at hugs, so was Addie. God, what she would give to feel their arms around her once again. He hugs her back, tightly, and the dampness on her blouse can only be because he's finally crying. Bianca's own kids are in New York staying with David's parents, a boy and a girl; one is starting her first year of High School and the other is in Alaska to train to be a Coast Guard. It's been a while since she's been around someone as young as Michael, but something inside her screams for her to watch over him. Make sure to erase any darkness her mother implanted on his soul with something better. "I'm not too sure about that, kiddo. I do know your sister is here…um, Vanessa, I think?"

"Violet," he corrects softly, his sobs now are mere hiccups. "I never met her before. I'm scared she won't like me. She has a little girl my age. Nana doesn't like her because she's different."

"That sounds like my mom."

"I don't care, though," Michael says after a moment, giving Bianca's hand another tight squeeze. "Different is cool."

Being in her late thirties isn't too old to raise a five year old, is it? Because for the mere five minutes she's been with this little boy, Bianca can't see a life without him in it.

"Different is _always_ cool."

* * *

><p>"This isn't a good idea," grumbles Violet. "I mean, I'm supposed to take Adelaide trick-or-treating with mom and dad—"<p>

Tate can't stop the pout from forming on his lips, even if he wants to. "We should be doing that, not them." He says, insufferably. The fact that Violet left Adelaide with her parents instead of venturing around the cold, dark, dank basement with him and Violet is also something to put him in a sour mood. He supposes he should be happy that he talked her into venturing around her old house at all.

They talk about anything and everything; the talk about superficial things to ease the tension, and speak about the big things. Tate's heart thuds against his chest and swells when she talks about their daughter. He loves how her eyes twinkle and she smiles with those dimples he aches to kiss when she speaks about her accomplishments, how she's finally speaking in semi-full sentences, and how Violet thinks she's pretty much the only kid in the world she can tolerate full heartedly. "She _loves_ that toy truck you gave her, by the way."

He knows this. He's read about it in Violet's letters to his mom like a religious man reads his bible. He doesn't tell her he has stocks of the photographs Violet has sent, intending for Constance to have, only to make their way in Tate's possession. Oh, how he has spent the last five years pouring over her image, wishing the three of them could be a unit. A family. "Does she know who I am?"

Violet exhales a shaky breath, before giving a tiny nod. "The picture I have of the two of you is on her nightstand. She brings it whenever she has to stay the night somewhere that isn't her home. She's pretty solid with some change, but there has to be something familiar around to help her out." She rubs chapped lips together and Tate once again fights the urge to kiss them. "I tell her that the guy in the picture, you, is her dad, but I don't think she really understands what a dad is."

"She will," he pipes up, hopefully. "I—_we_—just have to ease her into it. Let her know it's okay, that it's safe, and protect her."

She flinches, but she doesn't stand up to move away from him. She just leans her head on his shoulder and cuddles closer to his warmth. Despite Violet's bravado, he can see how tired she really is, and it kills him that he had to fuck it up for himself in the first place to make everything the way it is. "I know you don't want her here, I get it, but she needs a dad. Plus, your dad is a shrink, right? He can help her with stuff. I lived with Beau and Addie for years, I'm cool around kids with disabilities." He doesn't mention Bianca. Bianca left him, Beau and Addie and didn't keep in touch like she promised. She's just as bad of a liar as their mother is—no, was: as their mother_ was_. "There's Michael, too, you know? I mean, don't you want to be around your brother? Maybe Addy and Michael can play together?"

_Cousins._ Not siblings, but cousins, because Tate still can't say that Michael is _his._

Violet doesn't say anything. Tate would be upset, but she isn't saying no, either.

"She'd hate it in here. She goes ape shit if something is too dark; we have a night-light and I have to make sure her closet light is on before she goes to sleep." Violet observes after a moment, and Tate can't help but to feel a tad bit hopeful.

"I was scared of the dark, too."

He'd protect them both from the darkness, he would! If only Violet will give him a chance.

* * *

><p>Bianca isn't a religious woman at all, but she thanks God for David every single day. Just because he's fifteen years her senior, or the fact he used to be her Professor, never mattered to Bianca: from the first day they met she knew he was special, different. Regardless of how Constance painted the picture of Bianca to her friends, growing up the youngest female Langdon had a few boyfriends, nothing serious, but they still only saw her disability. David never has. They finally meet up with the lawyer once most of the attendants clear out, and apparently her mother got that house she coveted ever since she lost it years ago, just shortly after her father left. Fully paid for, even the bills, and Bianca has to wonder where the hell Constance got all that money to pay for it. Apparently, due to its reputation, the price lowered significantly, making it one of the cheapest houses in Los Angeles. Also, according to her mother's will, Bianca and David are named the guardians of Michael Scott Langdon.<p>

"I understand if this is too sudden…" the portly lawyer says, nervously. "This would mean starting over, jobwise, as well as the hassle of moving and, of course, taking in a child you barely know. I should warn you, however, that if you do not take in the child he _will_ become ward of the State of California."

"We realize that," David replies, squeezing Bianca's hand gently, reassuringly. "I, unfortunately, dealt with the 'system' when I was a kid; it's designed to help, but most foster kids just become a meal ticket than an actual child. Of course, that's just my experience."

If Bianca didn't know it now, she knows she never would: David Olson is a diamond in the rough.

"We'll do it."

David looks at Bianca, more bemused than shocked, but he doesn't say anything against it. "I mean, I figure I can exorcise some demons out of that old place. Besides, I kind of miss the sun."

* * *

><p>"It seems you found Miss Addy." Vivian replies, cradling Jeffrey to her chest. It's been half a decade since the Harmon family murders; no one recognizes them and those that do, well, they write it off as coincidence than anything. Vivian makes her way to sit beside her husband on the porch swing. He's cradling a sleeping Adelaide in his arms—she can't help but be in awe at how much she's grown!—while she's cradling little Jeffrey. "Yep, but now she's out like a light, drooling on my suit." Ben answers with a simple, serene smile, before his face falls in something like discomfort. Vivian knows this look; this is the look when he has to tell her something that he knows she isn't going to handle well at all. "I saw Violet talking to Tate. Adelaide found them."<p>

_Take a deep breath,_ she tells herself. _It's just talking._

"And?" She pries, trying to sound calmer than she felt. "What happened?"

"Bunnies," Ben answers, receiving an amused snort from Vivian's part. "I asked Adelaide what they talked about, but the only thing she got was bunnies."

He has that look again.

"She's with Tate right now. Alone. Talking in the house."

_Oh, God. _

_"Viv,"_ he begins, sensing a storm that's inevitable but tries to quell it anyway, "I've been working with Tate for almost six years, now. I don't fully trust him and, no, I don't condone them resuming any sort of romantic attachment, but they have a child together; it's hard to erase any connection completely with that factor between the two."

"I still can't forgive him," Vivian tells Ben honestly. It makes her feel so very guilty, but it's true. She can't. Out of respect for her and Ben, the two are invisible to each other and keep out of their respected ways. He raped her. She doesn't care the intent or circumstance, he still raped her, and while she would give the world to Michael, who only sees her as a stranger than his mother, she can never, ever let it go. Not only did he rape her, he helped Hayden make her look unstable. Too many sins against her person for her to ever, _ever _look at that damaged boy in anything but a bad light. "And you know he'll try to get Violet back into that house and with her, Addy. She _can't _be in that house." It meant only seeing her daughter and granddaughter through video chat online, but Vivian knows it's worth it if only for their safety.

Ben says nothing. Vivian almost worries that her tone might have escalated to the point it would rouse Adelaide from her nap, but the little girl merely twitches before settling back into her grandfather's chest, sighing peacefully. "I just don't want Addy to be hurt, Ben. She doesn't deserve to experience what we have."

Ben brushes his lips against her temple. "Did I ever tell you that you're amazing?"

"A few times, but I can always hear it again." She teases, flashing her husband a toothy grin. "No more talk about that house, Tate, or any of that—let's just focus on the one night of the year we can try to be normal, with our granddaughter. Okay?"

Adelaide chooses this moment to stir away, rubbing sleep from her eyes with her tiny fists. "Addy go home now?" She asks with a pout. "Addy miss home. Not mommy said there are bunnies in bad house," she figures that's Adelaide's intelligent observation about the house next-door than Tate's, but listens all the same. "Addy likes bunnies, but Addy miss home." Addy peers at her uncle, her attention now solely focused on the sleeping infant as her dark eyes twinkle in wonder. "Baby."

"Jeffrey," Ben gently corrects, placing a kiss on the crown of Adelaide's head. "That's your uncle, Addy."

"No uncle, Grandpa," the little girl replies with a scrunched up face. _"Baby."_

Vivian suppresses a giggle; she knows Adelaide is sensitive about people laughing at her when she intends to be serious. Vivian always tries to give her granddaughter that respect in only laughing when it's intended, the same as Ben. "Are you excited about trick-or-treating?"

* * *

><p><em>Thank you all for the amazing reviews! I'm trying to make chapters a bit longer, be more plot focused, and as promised there will be gore and Violate goodness (just not solely the two characters: it isn't their story, after all, it's Michael's and Adelaide's.)<em>


	4. Beast slouches toward Bethlehem

_Three months ago. _

Adelaide sits in the nicely cut grass of the park mommy takes her every day after her mother's classes. It's nice, quiet, and a place for Adelaide to think while mommy studies silently, still managing to keep an eye on Adelaide. See, Adelaide would be interested in someone walking their dog—Adelaide loves animals! Unfortunately, Aunt Jill is allergic to everything but birds, so Santa Claus had to deny her puppy for_ just _a little longer!—and before she could squeal in delight, mommy would clear her voice and tell her to come back. Mommy has eyes everywhere; Adelaide isn't sure how that's possible, but she knows it's true.

People try to come up and talk to her, but unless there's a dog she never says a word. She doesn't like strangers. She doesn't like the unfamiliar and certainly doesn't like the stares they give her and mommy. Mommy says it's because they don't know what to say, or that they're too filled with bullshit they don't know where it ends or begins, but Adelaide doesn't like it all the same. Some would come and pinch her cheeks, or try to talk to her, and once when a child her age came up and snatched her favorite toy away all she could do was rock back and forth and scream until the parent forced the child to give it back. (Her mommy looked like she was about to blow up, but thankfully she didn't. Adelaide loves her mommy; mommy blowing up wouldn't be a good thing at all.)

It's out of the corner of her eye does she see a stray French bulldog, limping, bloodied, and finally collapsing in a heap only to be comforted by its whimpers. Adelaide quickly pushes her toy construction truck to the side and rushes toward the injured canine. Blonde curls bounce as her tiny legs make their way towards the animal, her face etched with worry, and not even her mother calling out her name—"Addy! Stay away from it, it could have rabies!"—can make her leave the animal's side.

"Addy sorry," she replies with a soft voice, placing her tiny hand over the bleeding wound. Someone hurt it—him—and all she wants is to make it all better, like her mommy does when she hurts herself and mommy kisses the pain away. Adelaide shuts her eyes, tightly, ignoring the people that surround her in pure curiosity, and rocks back and forth. _Please make it better_, she begs to something, anything, her bottom lip trembling. A surge of electricity starts from the tip of her toes to the crown of her head, all the way to her fingertips and onto the animal. _Please. _

When Adelaide opens her eyes, there's no more wound, and the animal picks itself off of his feet like nothing ever happened.

Adelaide turns to her mommy with a bright grin and dancing eyes: "Addy makes things new!"

* * *

><p>It's been a week since the funeral and Violet can't seem to make herself go back to Florida with Adelaide like she intended three days prior; she wants to say it's the product of not wanting to jump back onto a plane so quickly, but she knows it isn't true. She misses her parents. She misses Tate. God help her, does she miss Tate. She hasn't been with anyone else since Tate, either. She tells herself it's because of Addy, how she doesn't want to confuse her, or put the burden of a single mother of a special needs child on anyone else, but she knows better: it's because she isn't, and never will be, completely over Tate. It's a different situation now Adelaide is there; she can't help but to love the boy covered in darkness because he gave her Addy. When she makes her way back to the house, holding Adelaide's small, shaking hand in hers, she's grateful that Tate has agreed to meet them outside.<p>

Addy is scared of the house.

"Bad house," she whispers, pointing a chubby finger towards the Victorian two-story dream home that brought her Tate. It also brought her years of nightmares, only to be quieted by the little girl beside her. _"Bad house!"_ She says again, this time louder. When she sees the door open, it isn't Tate she sees, but a woman on a cane that looks just like him besides her short build and blue eyes. "May I help you?" She asks, leaning on her cane for support.

"No," Violet replies, biting her chapped lip at how awkward this is. "I-I used to live here, actually, and I'm just showing my daughter what it looks like."

The woman seems convinced and holds out her good hand, even if it makes her balance a bit off kilter: "Bianca Olson. I used to live here, too, when I was younger."

"Violet Harmon," she introduces herself, shaking the hand before pulling away just as quick as she gave it. (Violet hates shaking hands. It's weird.) "Same."

Adelaide doesn't say anything. She only hides her face in her mother's leggings. Yeah, Violet's fashion sense hasn't changed: she still looks a mix between a frumpy cat lady and someone who wishes they lived in the nineties. On good days Addy lets Violet dress her in something other than that pajama set she loves so much and today? Today is one of those days. She looks like a replica of her mother, even if her curly blonde hair says otherwise. "Michael told me about you. He says you're his…sister, right?"

"Uh, yeah, when my mom died in child birth my dad kinda…" Violet trails off, awkwardly. "So Constance took Michael in." At least, that's the story_ she's_ heard. "Did you know Michael or Constance?"

"She was my mother, if you could call that woman my mother," the woman says bitterly, looking as if she's swallowed something dissatisfactory.

Well, if this isn't the strangest family reunion she's ever had?

Violet gives an awkward nod and Bianca invites them inside. "I don't know…" And to prove her point, Adelaide sits down on the ground in an indian-style, rocking back and forth, her tiny palms cupping her ears. "Addy…" she coos, bending down to scoop the five year old in her arms, rubbing her back. "Maybe somewhere outside? Addy's scared of the house."

Turns out the front of the house has a little swing. Violet manages to calm Adelaide down long enough to sit. Moments later it seems Adelaide has forgotten her discomfort and is rolling around on the grass, sullying her close. Not that Violet cares. The swing lazily rocks back and forth has Bianca and Violet talk, getting to know each other. Bianca recounts her falling out with her mother, never being told of Beau's or Addie's death, and when the topic of Tate comes up the girls both grow uneasy. "He died here," Bianca tells Violet, who wears the world's best poker face as she listens, nodding. "After that I sort of…stopped trying to get in touch with my siblings. It scared me. He scared me."

"That sucks," is the only thing Violet can think of.

They talk about writing—something they both share in common—and the troubles of being a young parent. Bianca, supposedly, got pregnant her freshman year at NYU by her professor who, as it turns out, is now her husband, David Olson. Violet learns that she likes Bianca well enough; she has to wonder that, because she's lived her before, this house doesn't let go of inhabitants if they expire on its property, but she keeps that to herself. She asks about Michael, her brother, and Bianca says that he and David are shopping, "You should stay 'til they come back," Bianca offers brightly. "I know he wants to meet you and maybe he and Adelaide can have a play-date or something?"

It couldn't hurt, Violet thinks to herself. Adelaide can always use friends. Violet knows how it is not to have many or none at all, all too well. She doesn't want the same fate for her daughter.

A scream disrupts Violet from her thoughts: Adelaide isn't in the yard. Panic makes bile rise in her throat as her heart thuds wildly in her chest. A loud thud is sounded on the inside of the house and Violet all but rushes through the familiar door to see her daughter lying on the tile, holding her leg to her chest, face damp with tears—and _blood_. Violet rushes to her little girl's side to pick her up, smoothing matted hair away from her face to reveal deep claw marks. "Addy hurt!" She whines, snot dripping from her nostril. Violet looks around, franticly, nostrils flaring with anger and fear. It can't be Thaddeus: that Frankenstein baby never leaves the basement to the best of her knowledge.

"What happened?" Bianca asks, sitting beside Violet with furrowed brows. In front of the three girls stands a worried Tate. Violet looks at Bianca to see if she notices him, but the woman doesn't. "I'll go get my first aid kit."

With some difficulty, Bianca helps herself up with the cane and leaves to where it's only Violet, her petrified little girl, and Tate, who takes Bianca's place bending beside her. "I just heard screaming, Vi," he confesses, rubbing the little girl's back soothingly—or tries to. When Adelaide flinches—"Addy hurt!"—Violet notices blood stains on the back of her blouse. Pulling Addy's shirt up, there's a deep, inverted cross carved or clawed into her pale back. _"What the shit?"_ Violet hisses, tears brimming in her eyes. "Who did this, Tate? _Who the fuck would do this?"_

* * *

><p>He has no name. He was never born, not in the human sense. He has never been alive but, if he were to have a name, he'd call himself Seth. That's the name he introduced himself with to Charles when he summoned him to give life to his dead, mutilated child. The insane, tired, grieving doctor sealed his fate when he shook Seth's hand. All the lives he took were the blood that tainted the house, therefore becoming a prison to any who enter and die inside the walls. Why? Because he has always known it was getting ready for The One.<p>

The One was born in this house. The One was the boy that has been foretold ever since Seth was brought into existence.

Seth will do whatever it takes to protect The One, especially from the only thing on Earth that can destroy him.

The little girl repels him by her being there. He tried slowing down her brain activity as a child, or causing her birth early rather than on time, if only to weaken her or cripple her from ever reaching the goal. His Master was disappointed that the early onset of labor didn't do anything. Yet, Seth was thankful when the girl was taken from the house, hoping that nature would take its course and maybe take care of the problem for him.

No such luck.

He doesn't kill her. As soon as she entered the house through the back door she knew who he is, what he is, and he's thankful she's too young to build up any barrier between himself and her so he can attack. He has help, but he knows she does, too. What he gives her is a warning. Warning to stay away from the house, his greatest achievement, and warning to stay away from The One: he knows now that he shouldn't be the one to kill her, The One should, but that doesn't mean he _wouldn't._

The boy that works so well as a vessel—Master was right; the broken are so easy to use!—should've kept his seed to the vulnerable womb of the mother; instead, he complicated matters in creating _her._

When everyone is asleep and The One is safe away from the girl, Seth's mind has to form a plan. He needs a vessel, a living one, to do the work he needs by able to leave and stay whenever the vessel wished.

He descends to his Master to discuss such matters, leaving the newest occupants at the mercy of the ghosts for the time being. But he'll return.

He always has.


	5. It isn't real?

Michael's room is fully furnished within two weeks. His walls are a light green and filled with Baseball memorabilia and posters, both old and new. Uncle David says if he wanted, they could look into signing him up for Little League—which is too cool!—and Michael is counting the days to when this promise is fulfilled. He hasn't met his niece, yet; Bianca told him Adelaide's scared of the house. Michael can understand that since his Nana was, too, or at least that's what he thought. The house seems to call to the boy, soothes him like a lullaby he remembers Nana singing to him when he was upset, and for the past month he's been here he's had the best sleep since he can remember. The creaking floors and the strange sounds don't bother Michael at all; it's an old house, anyway, and honestly it's like musical accompaniment to the soft, dainty hum of a sound he cannot name or fathom.

He feels safe within himself for the first time in his life.

"Sleep tight, kiddo," Bianca says, giving him a kiss on his forehead just like Nana used to do. Michael likes Bianca. She's funny, she's nice, and she doesn't let her disability hold her back. Most of all, Bianca doesn't look at him the way the others seem to do, like he's some sort of a freak. She takes care of him. "Remember: if you need anything…"

"I know." He answers with a soft smile. "Do you think Violet will bring Addy over to play tomorrow?"

* * *

><p>After tucking Michael into bed with promises of nephew-and-niece reuniting, as well as lunch with his big sister, Bianca falls into a fitful slumber as soon as her head hits the pillow. She and her husband share a bed her mother and father shared, all too long ago. The sheets are the same, the smell of musk and lavender is still the same, and it seems not a single thing has been changed within the walls she spent her formative years in and it makes Bianca unsettled in the strangest of ways. Her eyes shoot open when shrill crying fills her ears. Turning towards her husband she notices he's still asleep—bastard can sleep through an Earth quake!—and tries to do the same.<p>

The crying only grows in volume, causing Bianca to cover her ears to try to drown out the sound.

_No, no Bianca, this isn't happening. Remember all those years you spent in therapy? There's no such thing as Haunted houses or ghosts. _

_"Look at me!" _

Bianca's eyes shot open to find herself pinned to the bed. She's paralyzed, literally, with fear and the only sound she can hear is the loud beating of her heart against her chest. In a blurry haze she sees a woman clothed in a blood stained nursing gown, her brown eyes wide and soulless as they stare at her as the other, a twenty-something-ginger haired female holds her down, the eyeliner around her eyes seems like the only makeup she has on._ "Look what he did to me."_

She wants to scream at them to go away, that they're not real, but the ginger haired female only slapped her hard against her cheek if she even thought about closing her eyes or opening up her mouth to speak.

_"Bitch, you can speak when I want you to, understand?" _

_"Look at what he did to me."_

_"Maybe we should induct her in the Murder House Hall of Fame?"_ The other girl asks, malice dripping from her voice. _"It's not like this place is any more crowded. Besides, Tiny Tina's worthless piece of shit for a husband won't miss her. Not after He's done with him. Turns out your brother's Bastard Number One is gonna' cause some big shit someday."_

Cold hands grip Bianca's throat, tightly, causing her to black out before a loud, angry voice yells a name she doesn't know.

"Bianca?"

She wakes up in cold sweat, her throat sore. She tries to open her mouth, but the only thing she can do is allow David to wrap his arms around her, rubbing her back soothingly as he rocks her back and forth. "It's just a dream. It's okay, babe, you're safe now."

Bianca isn't so sure.

* * *

><p>Violet isn't sure why she hasn't left, yet, and why she's still staying at Constance's old home. Even more, why she feels the need to rent it for the time being—<p>

Nothing makes sense anymore.

She takes some time off her classes because she doesn't have the energy to even take a course or two online. Tonight it's worse. Tonight Addy's fever is shooting up and Violet knows if her temperature rises anymore the little girl will have to go to the emergency room. She calls her parents—they both use Bianca's cellphone—for advice, anything, but Vivian's soothing voice calms the girl's nerves: "Place a cold rag on her forehead and make sure she has a lot of fluids," her mother tells her. "Really, Violet, just be calm. Her fever will break in no time."

Nothing Violet does seems to quell Adelaide's cries. All she needs is to let the medicine do what it needs to, sleep it off, and rest. Adelaide, however, is stubborn just like her mother.

Not that Violet is stubborn. Not at all.

"Addy, please," the young mother whispers helplessly, walking outside bundled up with blankets as she rocked the five year old back and forth, standing on the wooden porch. Standing up, never sitting down, because that would be too convenient: "You need to go to sleep, kiddo."

"Addy no sleep! Addy hurt!"

Out of the corner of her eye does she see Tate, face sunken and pale with worry, standing on the other side of the fence that separated the Murder House with the one she's currently renting.

"Can I hold her?" He asks, helplessly. Violet realizes that Tate hasn't held her since she was a newborn. Regardless of the circumstances, it hardly seems fair, so she lets him against her better judgment. It's not that she doesn't trust Tate, but she isn't sure how an already distraught Adelaide would take to being handed over to a stranger. Surprisingly, the little girl quiets down, resting into the dead boy's embrace (or Not Mommy, given she calls Tate nothing else but that phrase). It could be the fact she's worn herself out, or maybe she's growing attached to Tate, Violet isn't sure but she's too tired to wonder. "I can watch her while you sleep, if you want? I promise not to take her inside."

He sounds so hopeful, like a little boy pleading to his parents on why they should have a dog, and Violet's too tired to care. "Just…stay close, okay?" Violet replies, bleakly, eyes feeling heavier and heavier by the second.

She doesn't wake up until the sun's already up. She's still on the porch, sore from sleeping on said porch, and she turns around to see Tate sit across from Adelaide on the lawn, both sitting indian-style, as she talks about Vinyl records and explains why she still wants to go to_ her_ home, even if her mommy says she can't.


End file.
